


One Extremely Messed Up Human to Another

by grey2510



Series: Light's Grace!verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fallen Angel Castiel, Families of Choice, Family, Friendship, Gen, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Charlie Bradbury, POV Claire Novak, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not long after Dean is cured of the Mark of Cain, everyone—Dean, Cas, Sam, and Claire—are living in the bunker, trying to cobble together some sort of “normal” life. Charlie comes to visit, finally meeting Claire and Castiel. And despite the fact that “don’t talk about your feelings” is one of the unofficial Winchester mottos, sometimes it does help…</p><p>Canon-divergent after 10x14 and follows the events of the previous parts of the Light's Grace!verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean and Charlie

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the same universe as Light's Grace (it's a sequel of sorts). There's no real plot, just a collection of conversations among the characters. The title is taken from one of Cas' lines in 10x10.
> 
>  
> 
> **LG!V TIMELINE: March 2015**  
> 

Dean slides a beer across the table for Charlie before settling himself in one of the library chairs diagonal from her, grinning at one of the few people in this world he can count as a friend. And really, that barely covers it. After their first encounter with Charlie, Dean had told Sam she was like the little sister he never wanted, but in the few years since, he’s mentally left off the last part of that assessment.

“So what brings you to our lovely neck of the woods? Your text was pretty vague,” he asks, taking a swig of his own beer.

“Was in the area, wanted to check out some of the lore on a possible case I caught brewing over in Colorado. Plus, it’s been far too long since I’ve seen my favorite handmaiden, and dude, seriously, way not to invite me over after, you know, _everything_.” Charlie gives Dean a scandalized look and swats him playfully on the arm.

Two or three years ago, Dean might have clocked anyone who called him ‘handmaiden’, but now the nickname just brings back the awesomeness of the weekend they spent LARP-ing while solving that fairy case.

"I’m sorry, Your Worshipfulness, we’ve been kind of busy.”

“Uh huh. Well considering I was still researching the Mark of Cain for two weeks before you even _told_ me you were better…”

“Ok, ok! I said I’m sorry.” Dean throws up his hands in mock-defeat.

“Haven’t even met Cas—or Claire—yet…” Charlie is still muttering, giving Dean an admonishing glare, although her mouth is twitching at the corners.

“I told you, Claire’s still at school and Cas is out shopping. He ‘n Sam’ll be back any minute,” Dean replies and kicks out a chair next to him to prop up his feet, crossing them at the ankles.

“He better be. I’m tired of only knowing about him from the books and second-hand from you,” Charlie smirks.

Dean grimaces at the reference to the _Supernatural_ books. Sam might be able to laugh them off for the most part, but seriously, they’re fucking weird…and that high school musical version they’d seen? What. The. Hell.

“Don’t give me that look, Winchester,” Charlie says, “If you’d just gotten your head out of your ass earlier, I wouldn’t have had to try and pull it out for you.”

“What?” Dean asks, looking up from the beer bottle in his hands.

“Why do you think I kept asking about Cas all those times? Why do you think I, of all frakking people, said he sounded ‘dreamy’, huh?”

Realization slowly dawns on Dean. “Oh… I did think it was kind of weird for you to say…”

“No kidding. I was trying to get a reaction out of you. Pretty sure we all were. I mean, when Sam told me about Destiel—”

"God, I’m gonna fucking kill him. He told you about that?! What, is there some freaking newsletter that goes out about me?”

“Don’t be an idiot. You don’t have a monopoly on Bradbury-Winchester texting.”

“All right, all right. Whatever. Enough giving me shit. Everything’s good now. Head is firmly out of my ass about Cas. Happy?”

“More or less,” Charlie concedes as she takes a sip of her beer. Dean sees a wicked smile start to curve on Charlie’s lips and suddenly he knows she is far from done with giving him shit. “So. Details. How’re things with former Mr. McSmiteyPants?” She waggles her eyebrows.

"I don’t kiss and tell,” Dean replies with a look of exaggerated innocence.

“That’s bull and you know it.”

Dean’s mouth opens with a witty and flippant retort, but at the last second he bites it back. For the first time since…hell, Lisa?...he doesn’t know what to say without sounding either like a total jackass or like he’s in a chick-flick. But it’s Charlie he’s talking to, and it’s about Cas, so for perhaps for the first time in his life, Dean fucking Winchester consciously chooses the chick-flick moment and prays to whoever might be listening that Charlie is as awesome as she usually is and doesn’t tell a goddamn soul. He clears his throat.

“Actually, it’s not bull. Not this time at least. It’s Cas, you know? It’s different than anyone else, even Lisa,” he pauses, and he still can’t believe he’s saying this. He waits for Charlie to start laughing, even though he knows she won’t, but all Charlie has is an encouraging smile on her face. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, when Sammy’s around, it’s awesome torturing him and cracking jokes—that’s kind of the whole point of having a little brother. And oh man, it’s hilarious to see the moment when Cas goes from totally confused awkward ex-angel to getting the joke—but I dunno, I kinda like when it’s just…between us.”

Luckily for Dean, he doesn’t have to wait long for Charlie’s reaction: she grins like a proud parent—at least, what Dean imagines one would look like—and says, “Those are all the details I wanted.” She takes a sip of beer, then salutes him with the bottle. “Look at you, Winchester: all de-Mark-ified and domesticated…”

“I am not domesticated!” Dean protests, but without anger. “I killed the fucking Father of Murder and made an actual angel fall. I’m fucking badass, thank you very much.”        

“Never said you weren’t. You’re one badass, domesticated hunter,” Charlie snarks good-naturedly. “You’re playing house with said fallen angel and raising his vessel’s kid.”

“We’re not raising Claire. Dude, she’s almost eighteen, not five. We’re just giving her a place to stay,” he rationalizes, but deep down, Dean knows that’s not entirely true. Sure, it's been rocky at times—it’s not like Claire was suddenly going to turn into some magical poster child, and hell, they’re living in a freaking bunker full of supernatural crap not suburbia with a white picket fence—but Dean kinda likes the kid.

“You texted me to tell me she got an A on a personal narrative she wrote for class,” Charlie counters.

“Well, yeah. I told you, it was fucking funny: she pretty much wrote about how her life was all rainbows and unicorns, you know ‘cause obviously she couldn’t tell the truth, and her teacher couldn’t tell that it was total bullshit. Teacher told her it was, and I fucking quote, ‘beautifully written’ and showed an ‘authentic voice.’ What a moron.”

Dean’s explanation doesn’t get quite the response he’d hoped. Charlie just smirks and holds out her hands in front of her, silently saying _And just to prove my point…_

“Shut up,” he mutters, but inwardly, he’s a little pleased.

“Fine. I’ll let it go…this time.” There’s a devious look on Charlie’s face and Dean just rolls his eyes and groans.

“Aww thanks, Your Highness.”

They sit for a moment in companionable silence, and Charlie starts picking at the label on her beer.

“Hey, Dean?” Charlie hedges, and Dean’s beer pauses halfway to his lips; he does _not_ like the sound of hesitancy in Charlie’s voice. “I know things’re way better now that you have Cas and no Mark and whatnot…but last time I saw you, you were pretty wrecked. And I was kind of a mess—hello, literal split personalities—so I’m probably not one to talk. But are you ok after…everything? I mean, you know we’re still ok, right?”

If Dean wants to be honest with himself—and let’s face it, that’s usually _not_ the case, but hey, he’s been trying harder lately; give credit where credit’s due—this is part of the reason it took him so long to contact Charlie again. After her return from Oz and how he’d hurt her… It didn’t matter that she said she forgave him; it’s always harder to forgive yourself. He lowers the beer and his eyes focus on the tips of his boots propped up on the chair. It takes him a moment to realize he’s been holding his breath while he thinks, and he lets it out in a long sigh.

“Uh, yeah. I’m…ok. I still kinda feel like shit about what I did to you…or Dark You and Nice You…or whatever we’re calling that whole mess. And I did a lot of fucked up stuff with the Mark and when I was a demon. It’s not something you forget. Or forgive.” He rubs his face. “Cas ‘n I’ve…talked about it. I guess it helps a little. I’m not really good at talking about this stuff. Like when I came back from Hell…”

Charlie is quiet, and when Dean looks up, he sees, not sympathy but, _empathy_. She knows _exactly_ what he went through. _Shit, this must’ve been hard for her, too. Way to be a jackass: you never bothered to check in on her._

“Charlie? You all right?” His friend’s lower lip quivers and Dean’s “I feel like a jackass” meter pegs in the red. Dean gets up and crouches by her chair, pulling her into a hug. “Hey, hey, it’s ok.”

“How do you do it, Dean?” she says, her voice husky from choking back a sob. “I mean, all of the stuff I did…”

“It wasn’t you,” he says, but he knows she’ll see right through that line. It’s one that others have tried on him, and it never works. He sighs and pulls her a little tighter. “I dunno, Charlie. I’m really not the one to ask about how to deal with shit. My go-to’s are usually alcohol, repression, denial, and anger. But hey…I already got you a beer, so welcome to the Dean Winchester Recovery Program.”

The tightness in Dean’s chest relaxes a little when he feels Charlie chuckle weakly at that last part.

“You also got an angel out of the deal… Must’ve helped,” Charlie jokes a bit as she pulls away from Dean. He can feel the damp from her tears through his shirt, but he doesn’t care.

“Hey, feel free to check the lore; maybe we can summon you up that hot fairy,” he grins and is relieved to see it returned beneath the waterlogged eyes of his friend. He rocks back on his heels, then stands up from the crouch, listening to his knees creak and crack— _fuck I’m getting old…_ “I’m not good with advice,” he says, returning to seriousness, “but when I thought I lost Cas a few years ago, and then Bobby died, and Sammy was a head case with Lucifer hallucinations, this guy Frank—you know, the paranoid bastard whose hard drive you hacked?—told me something: even when life sucks, you smile because you’re still around and kicking, and you do it the next day, and the next day, and that’s your job. I dunno. It kinda helped. That’s the best I got.”

“Yeah…” Charlie’s tone doesn’t sound convinced.

“Charlie, if there’s one person who’s fucking awesome at being cheery as hell and putting on a smile, it’s you. It’ll be ok.”

Charlie wipes her eyes with her palm, and she takes a deep breath. Then, in true Charlie-fashion, she smiles.

“You’re right: I am fucking awesome at being cheery as hell.”


	2. Charlie and Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [A.N.: Apologies ahead of time for the Jesus joke in this chapter -- no offense is meant to anyone's religious beliefs or texts (and Charlie even admits she's going to Hell for that joke).]

_Ok, definitely not my type and all but I totally get what Dean was talking about. Oh frak, what the hell do you say to an ex-angel?_

“Uh, hi, you must be Cas! I’m—”

“Charlie. It’s good to _finally_ meet you," Cas replies, shooting Dean a pointed look.

“Sorry, man. Shoulda introduced you earlier, I know. Charlie already read me the riot act.” Dean takes the grocery bags from Cas, and Charlie notices his hands linger a bit on Cas’. “I’m gonna help Sammy put stuff away. Guy’s lived here for years now and still doesn’t know where anything goes…” Dean grumbles good-naturedly and departs, leaving Charlie alone with Cas and _holy Hermione, the books weren’t lying…does he know how to stare or what!_

"I also wanted to thank you for helping with Claire's records," Cas tells her warmly.

“Oh yeah, no problem about the records. Easy gig.” They stand awkwardly for a few moments, Charlie desperately trying to contain her (not so) inner fangirl. 

“So,” Castiel begins with a quiet smile, and Charlie is relieved she hadn’t had to break the silence; it probably would have just been her squeeing or rambling about stuff that she knows Cas would not get in the slightest. “Why brings you to the bunker? Are you here so you and Dean can go…LARPing? Is that the word?”

Charlie’s face brightens. “He told you about that? We have plans for that next month, but no, not today. You should totally come!”

“Yes, he's told me many stories,” he says in response to her question, “although it still baffles me why anyone would want to pretend to fight battles with fake weapons and stay in living conditions that are rudimentary at best.”

“It’s fun. You get to pretend to be someone else for a change. Sometimes you need to escape real life,” Charlie explains, and is a bit surprised to see Castiel’s shoulders slump a bit.

“Oh. I understand.” Castiel looks around the library awkwardly.

“Wait, hey no, Cas…I didn’t mean it like that. Trust me, he doesn’t want to escape you," Charlie backpedals before grinning, "To be honest, I'm surprised he hasn't gotten you a foam sword and character name all picked out. You know...the Queen's army could always use some good recruits and strategists.”

The former celestial being regards her for a moment and she can almost hear him judging her and weighing her credibility. She gives him her best supportive, honest smile. Maybe it’s the smile or maybe it’s some leftover angel mojo, but Cas seems satisfied with her response.

“That does sound interesting," Cas admits, and a sheepish expression creeps over his face. "I must confess, Charlie, I wasn’t sure what to think of you when I first heard about you…well, what I heard after Purgatory.”

“What do you mean?”

Castiel sighs. “When we were in Purgatory, Dean told me about the help you gave Sam and Dean with defeating Dick Roman. My only thought then was relief that the brothers had found such a strong ally. But then…”

Charlie squints a bit, trying to read Cas and figure out where this is all headed. _Oh crap…_

“After the next few times you interacted with Dean and Sam, Dean spoke of you frequently. I was…jealous. I thought perhaps there was an attraction there, but Dean soon corrected me.” For a being who was once a powerful creature, Cas looks more like a young kid who got caught doing something he shouldn’t by the teacher.

“Dude, seriously, nothing to worry about.” Charlie grins and she pumps a fist. “I sooo called it though!”

Cas tilts his head in a questioning look and it’s all Charlie can do not to laugh: the expression is _exactly_ how she pictured it after reading the books. It’s like déjà-vu for her headcanon: a bit trippy, but hey she went to freakin’ Oz with Dorothy—trippy’s what Charlie Bradbury does.

“I was pretty much convinced forever that you were head over heels for Dean after reading the _Supernatural_ books,” she explains.

“Oh, the Winchester Gospels?”

“The _what?_ ” she sputters. She knew that the books were written by a prophet, but the Winchester _Gospels_?? Somehow she has difficulty considering them in the same class as actual holy texts. _And wait, shouldn’t it be the Gospel of Edlund, then? Damn, either way that’s hilarious…_

“I don’t understand. Have I said something wrong?”

Another thought occurs to Charlie, her faces flushes red, and suddenly she is finding it difficult to breathe from laughter.

“It’s just…” she pants. “Well…can you imagine if the fan fiction writers ever find out they’re essentially writing Biblical slash?”

“What is fan fiction and slash?”

 _Oh man, Dean is going to kill me for explaining this to him._ “Um, so, when people are fans of a work of fiction, sometimes they write their own versions and stories for the characters—that’s fan fiction. And a lot of time, they like to pair up different characters romantically—that’s slash. As in Dean/Castiel. And a lot of it is pretty…um, graphic?” _Why am I explaining fan fiction smut to an ex-angel? What has my life become?? Why is my mouth still moving and forming words!_ “Oh man, if they knew you two went canon…”

“Ah. Dean did mention there was a musical version of the books written by teenage students. He seemed fairly uncomfortable about it; I didn’t press for many details. I imagine now it had something to do with…slash." Cas pauses and once again those blue eyes are locked on her. _Hot damn, Dean, you know how to pick 'em._  "I’m still not sure what you find amusing about this," he says in earnest confusion.

“Um, I…uh…just had this image in my head of ‘what if the Internet and fan fiction existed 2,000 years ago’—like would people have been sitting around writing Jesus/Peter fics?” Charlie’s laughter has subsided somewhat, but it’s threatening to bubble up again. _I am so going to Hell for that…maybe I can ask Dean if he knows any girl angels willing to drag me back up…shut up Bradbury, keep it together…_ She squares her face. “Uh, yeah…sorry…anyway. Wow, uh, not exactly the first impression you want to give a former Angel of the Lord, right?”

Cas half-smiles, and Charlie is relieved to see he isn’t offended; he may be a human now, but if that piercing stare of his and the fact that he’s with Dean freakin’ Winchester are anything to go by, he’s gotta be seriously badass and is not to be messed with.

“I first met Dean in Hell,” he says simply, with an astoundingly human 'it could've been worse' shrug.

“Touché,” she admits, although Charlie suspects that even in Hell, Dean made a pretty good impression on the celestial being. (And that's definitely one gap in the narrative she wouldn't mind if Carver Edlund...Chuck Shurley...whatever his name is...filled in at some point.) 

Cas considers his next words for a moment. “I see why Sam and Dean speak so highly of you. I’m thankful they have such a good friend; especially during those times when I was…unavailable.”

Clearly the Cas' tumultuous history with the Winchesters is still a difficult subject, and so Charlie tactfully doesn’t press on the matter.

“We’ve been through a lot,” she offers.

“They’re good people to go through a lot with,” says Cas, nodding.

Charlie crosses over to the angel and gives him a hug because dammit that’s what family does. “So are we. ‘Bout time we teamed up to keep our boys in check.”

Cas snorts. “We certainly have our work cut out for us, Charlie Bradbury.” **  
**


	3. Claire and Castiel

Just as Claire is grabbing a pack of Poptarts from the cabinet, Castiel strolls in from where he has been researching with Dean, Sam, and Charlie, looking a bit out of his element. Since becoming human again, Cas has forgone the suit and trenchcoat look, but he still stays more formal: the top buttons of his shirt are always done up (unless Dean has anything to do with it, which is something Claire prefers to nope out of thinking about), the sleeves are rarely rolled. But, at least he looks far more normal than he did. Claire reaches into the fridge and grabs him a beer, and holds it out with the bottle opener magnet from the fridge door. Cas takes it gratefully.

“How’s it going out there?” Claire smirks.

“I believe Charlie makes more popular culture references than even Dean. It’s like they’re speaking an entirely different language—and I _know_ every language.” Cas shrugs.

“Taking a break?” Claire settles down at the table and rips open the thin foil around the pastries. _Does anyone actually ever toast these?_ she wonders as she munches on the edges; she always saves the middle with the filling for last.

"Yes. Being human can be…overwhelming. At least this time I’ve had some practice, but it is still difficult at times.”

“I hear ya,” she nods. “It’s gotta be sensory overload with them. I _like_ Charlie and even I couldn’t keep up.”

Castiel wipes a bead of condensation off his bottle with his thumb absently. “It’s always good to see Dean happy like this, though.”

"Everything ok with you two?” Claire asks, wondering what possible drama could have cropped up, but also knowing that it wouldn’t shock her in the slightest to find out Dean was worrying Cas somehow.

“Yes. Although I think sometimes Dean feels guilty about everything, like how I fell or how you gave up your Grace. He always carries everyone’s burdens.” Castiel's face hangs a bit, as though he feels personally responsible for Dean’s guilt.

“Well, tell him to suck it up. He doesn’t know how good he’s got it,” she mutters, and she wonders in the back of her mind if her pep talk is really about Dean or herself.

Cas doesn’t say anything for a moment, just pops open his beer and tosses the cap in the bin by the door. Claire inwardly smiles at the fact that of course Castiel would quickly learn how to be entirely casual and human about opening beer in the Winchester bunker.

“How are you, Claire?” Even though Castiel can’t do the angel soul-gaze anymore, he still has a way of looking at a person as though he can see _everything_ ; his blue eyes are wide with concern, but Claire can’t bring herself to tell him that she sometimes feels suffocated in this life—not that deep down she wants to leave or anything. He wouldn’t understand; he’d probably think she just wants to run away again and that it's something he’s done.

“Peachy,” she replies, then adds “I’m fine” so as not to confuse the former angel; idioms still aren’t really his thing. Cas just rolls his eyes and sits at the table with his beer.

“Claire, I may be still learning how to do this whole ‘human thing,’” Castiel says, and not for the first time, Claire marvels at the level of sarcasm he can dredge up, “but I learned about humanity from the Winchesters, particularly Dean. I know what ‘fine’ means.”

“It’s nothing,” Claire shoots back, a bit more defensively than she had meant. She breathes out and shrugs her shoulders. “School sometimes sucks, ya know? Classes are boring, the people are lame. It’s nothing to worry about. Just normal crap.”

Castiel sighs with acceptance, and Claire knows she’s deflected well enough for now. Over the past few months, Claire and Cas have developed a strange relationship, but it seems to be working for them for the most part: Castiel can be oddly and awkwardly paternal (Claire would never admit out loud that she kind of likes it), but sometimes she feels like the parent when it comes to teaching him how to be less “Castiel, Angel of the Lord” and more “Cas, Human in Training”.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted or expected out of life, and I know it hasn’t been easy.” Cas’ earnest voice is a low rumble; for a brief moment, Claire realizes that she no longer remembers what her father’s voice had sounded like—she knows it was different from Castiel’s, but she can’t remember how—and her heart twinges. “We just hope that you will find your place in the world and will be happy. And if we can help and be a part of that, we hope you will come to us if you need us.”

“Yeah, I know, Cas. I’m ok. I’ll be ok.” It’s as close to the truth as she thinks she can get. Cas just nods, then gets up. He pauses at the door for the moment, looking like he isn’t sure what do to or say next.

“I’m glad you’re here, Claire.”

“Me too,” she says under her breath, but Cas has already left the kitchen.


	4. Castiel and Sam

It often concerns Castiel that he actually needs to do research now that he's human; even though the extent of his knowledge after millennia of existence is unquantifiable, he's begun to forget: the human brain can only hold so much. But, for the moment, he surprisingly finds the task pleasant…although perhaps it's the company he's with that makes the task seem enjoyable.

The tables are strewn with books and laptops. Charlie is bent over her computer at the far end of the table, and her fingers fly dexterously over the keys. Sam sits diagonally across from him, and he switches frequently back and forth between his own laptop and the various tomes around him. Dean's laptop sits untouched, and the hunter is reclining back in his chair, his brow furrowed as he reads through the heavy book propped up on his legs. His shoulder rests against Cas'. It's a simple point of contact, but Cas knows now how much that means from Dean.

After years of watching or hearing Dean when it came to the women in whom he was interested, Castiel had been upset at first when Dean seemed so reluctant to display any affection towards him around others. He had assumed Dean was not as interested as he had claimed or that he was embarrassed by their relationship—Cas would never quite understand humanity's obsession and concern over sexual orientation, but he knows Dean had struggled with his own for years (and still struggles with it, at times). Several weeks of frustration, depression, and near-arguments later, Castiel finally realized Dean's behavior meant the exact opposite of all Cas had feared; this was how Dean said he loved someone, this was how Dean said that person was special, was different from all the one-night stands and…flings?...yes, that's the word...that he had paraded around. The revelation had made Castiel love the hunter even more.

"Fuck, I've had it…my eyeballs are about to dry up and fall out," Dean groans, tossing the book on the table. "Charlie, tell me you've got something. Maybe a shifter? Looks like their loved ones?"

As Dean gets up, he pats Cas on the shoulder, his hand running down the sleeve a bit. They exchange smiles, and then Cas watches as Dean drags his chair down to Charlie's end of the table and the two become engrossed in discussion over Charlie's findings. Castiel supposes he should try and listen, or at least continue reading his own book, but instead he just regards Dean, his mind reflecting back on all they have been through that has brought them to this place.

"Cas?" Sam whispers. The younger Winchester must have caught Castiel's look as the memories of some of their darker times were flash in his mind's eye, especially at Dean's latest theory about this case; concern is heavy in the younger hunter's voice.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I was distracted. I'm fine," Cas replies, and his eyes automatically flick back to Dean, who catches the gaze and holds it for a moment before returning to his conversation with Charlie. Cas turns to Sam and offers him a half-smile.

"Did you…" Sam starts, obviously uncomfortable with whatever he is about to say. "Did you…ever tell Dean? You know, what you told me? Back when we were trying to find him?"

Cas feels his heart and stomach clench, and he absently reflects on how often that happens now that he's human. The memory of that conversation comes back to him easily; in fact, he and Sam had been sitting very similarly to as they are now.

Dean had been missing for weeks, apparently not as dead as they had thought. All they had was a note: "Sammy let me go".

The Winchesters had never been good at following directions. Or letting go.

It was during these weeks that Castiel and Sam had become closer friends, united by a purpose, united in their grief and pain over Dean's absence.

But it wasn't until that day in the library that they had ever talked about anything other than new leads and theories. That day, the research had paused, and instead they sat at these tables, drinking their way through a few six packs, trying to dull their tense nerves that grew worse and worse after every lead came to a dead end—often literally. Castiel had a feeling the alcohol was doing more for the younger Winchester, but he steadily drank from the beers pushed in front of him regardless.

It's what Dean would have done, Castiel had thought ruefully.

They had slipped into a heavy silence, and it was clear that Sam was feeling the effects of the alcohol to some small degree. Finally, however, Castiel broke the silence; his thoughts were too painful to hold in and the words came rushing out.

"Naomi made me kill him," he'd said in almost a whisper.

Sam had looked up from the table in surprise and confusion.

"Yeah, Cas, we know. It wasn't your fault. And you didn't kill him—you stopped and you healed him, remember?"

"That's not what I meant," Castiel explained, the confession pulsing in his brain and clawing into his heart. "She made me kill him. A thousand times. I stopped counting sometime after 536."

"Wait, what? Cas, what're you talking about? I know Dean's died more than most people, but, he hasn't died _that_ many times. And I'm pretty sure you haven't killed him."

Castiel had stared off into the bookcases, unwilling to meet Sam's eyes. "It was how she trained me, how she broke me. Every day, there was a Dean—a copy, of course—and I had to kill him. Over and over again, Deans begging me not to, looking at me with utter betrayal and pain as the angel blade tore into them. Every day. Hundreds. Until I could do it without hesitation. Then, she sent me to the crypt."

The words had come tumbling out, raw and jagged. He buried his head in his hands. He could feel Sam's stare, could picture the shock and horror on his face.

"I could hear Dean—the real Dean—praying to me," Castiel told his shoes. "Naomi could always tell when I'd heard a prayer, and she'd bring me back to the room, produce another Dean and I would have to kill him, even with my—our—Dean's voice echoing in my mind."

The silence was palpable. Castiel sat stilly, resolutely ignoring the younger brother.

"Does…does Dean know this?" Sam choked out.

"No." Castiel stood up and started towards the door. He had to get out. It was all just too much. Sam bolted out of his chair, knocking it back onto the floor, and caught Castiel's sleeve.

"Cas," Sam said, dropping the sleeve. "I…I'm so sorry. I never knew. I watched Dean die so many times thanks to Gabriel, but I never…I never had to do it. Never had to kill him. I can't even imagine."

Castiel said nothing. What was there to say?

"We'll find him. We'll bring him back." Sam's jaw was firm, and then he pulled Castiel in; Castiel somewhat uncharitably thought of all his celestial brothers and sisters. They may be his family, but this? This support? This was real family. Sam's eyes were watery when they broke apart and Castiel knew they matched his own. "I'm so sorry," Sam said again. Castiel just nodded miserably.

The memory is sharp but quickly fades as Cas shakes his head in response to the present-Sam's question. "No, I don't think I can. Not yet at least." Cas sighs, and once more he finds himself watching Dean and Charlie…but mostly Dean. "Dean doesn't need another burden."

Sam just nods, understanding perfectly what Castiel means. "Look, if you ever need to talk about it—or anything—you know you can talk to me, ok?"

"Of course, Sam. Thank you."

"No problem. Family, right?"

Cas smiles. "Yes, family."

"Hey, what're you two conspiring about?" Dean asks with a raised eyebrow and a mock-accusatory glare.

"The usual: switching out your cassette player with an iPod jack in the Impala, making you eat kale with every meal…" Sam replies sardonically. Castiel is always amazed at how quickly each of the Winchesters can switch or mask their moods. He has a lot to learn about being human still.

"Don't even joke, jackass," Dean growls, but he shoots Cas a small grin, which Cas returns.

Castiel catches Sam's eye and the younger brother sends him a sympathetic and supportive look. _Your secret's safe with me_ , it tells him, and Cas' heart swells with gratitude and peace.


	5. Sam and Claire

Sam has to admit, after years of living in motels with thin walls, one of the best things about the bunker is that it is fairly soundproof—and in the last few months, he’s become even more thankful for that, but he pulls his mind away from that train of thought before he mentally sees what can’t be unseen. And so he's immediately intrigued when he hears music in the dormitory hallway. The music is fairly catchy and upbeat and it’s nothing he recognizes (then again, when the majority of one's musical exposure is pretty much limited to the six cassettes one's brother plays on loop in the car, it’s to be expected that one hasn’t a clue what’s in the Top 40). Claire’s door is half-open, and he sees her lounging on the bed, glued to the laptop they’d managed to scrounge up for her. She looks up, then gives him a smile and a “hey.”

“Hey, sorry, wasn’t trying to creep,” he answers. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good.” Claire hits a button on her laptop a few times and the volume of the music goes down. “You can come in, you know. If you’re trying to not go for the creeper vibe, it might help.”

Sam chuckles, and complies, leaning back against the wall next to the door, hands in his pockets. He looks around the room—he hasn’t really seen inside it in a while—and is surprised to see how _normal_ it looks, other than for the lack of windows. Claire isn’t a particularly messy person, but she’s no neat-freak either: a few pieces of clothing hang over the back of the chair by the small table she uses as a desk, which is covered with an assortment of books and nail polish and make-up and other odds and ends, Chucks in various colors are piled by the closet door. On the wall over her bed is a large swath of brightly colored fabric in magentas and purples that’s framed with white Christmas lights, and it does a fairly good job of breaking up the industrial brick and concrete look that the Men of Letters favored. There’s a shelf on one wall filled with knick-knacks—some look recently bought, but a few others, like the ballerina figurine, look worn but well-loved. It’s a bittersweet realization: they’re probably all Claire has left from her real family, and they’re all small things that she could bring with her in her bag when she was on the run.

He notices there are no pictures. Even Dean has a picture of Mom in his room, and Sam has a few photos he recovered from Bobby’s tucked away. But Claire? Sometimes he forgets how awful it must be to have your father’s body walking around without your father in there. Pictures would probably make things worse.

“So what’s up, Sam?”

“Nothing really. Just realized I hadn’t really seen your room since you’d moved in. It looks nice.”

“Thanks,” Claire says and her eyes travel around the room, reassessing everything. “How come you haven’t done much with yours?”

Sam blinks, a bit surprised by the question. He didn’t think Claire had ever been in his room.

“Sorry…I was snooping one day when you guys were on a hunt.”

Sam half-smiles reassuringly. “I would, too,” he admits, then runs a hand through his hair before responding to her question. “I dunno. This just hasn’t really ever felt like _home_ to me. It’s where I live, it’s where I work, but…” He shrugs.

Claire considers this. “Does Dean know?”

“Yeah. That conversation didn’t go over well. Even Charlie made herself scarce getting beers when I said that the first time.”

Claire rolls her eyes and Sam knows it’s because she can picture Dean’s expression at Sam’s revelation. The joking slips from her face and she draws her knees up to her chest, loosely wrapping her arms around them. “Finding home is hard.”

If there’s one thing that Sam has learned from all of his years questioning witnesses and victims, it’s sometimes silence works best. In the past few months, Sam has felt like an outsider when it comes to Claire: she and Cas have a strange bond but it seems to work for them, and she and Dean are probably more alike than either of them would ever admit, but Sam doesn’t know where he stands with her although they get along well enough. Right now, though, he can tell Claire is on the edge of opening up and he doesn’t want to scare her away. His gamble of silence pays off after a moment.

“Sometimes I think I’ve found home, but sometimes I just want to get in my car and run you know?”

“Yeah, I do. Pretty much the story of my life,” Sam sympathizes, thinking back on all the times he’s felt that same conflict. Going to Stanford. Hunting again. Amelia. The bunker. It’s an endless cycle. “I also get why you’re here on a Friday night, not out with friends.”

Claire’s eyes widen then drop, filled with shock and shame. She crosses her arms and looks up at him defiantly. _Shit…wrong move. The walls are back up._

“Sorry, Claire. I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” Sam sighs. Suddenly, he feels guilty for all the times he must have put his brother in this position when they were kids, all the times he complained to his brother about how he felt like a freak at school and that he just wanted to be normal, and all of the times Dean had reassured him he wasn’t a freak…and then offered (threatened) to beat up anyone who said otherwise. “Look, it’s not like I had the most normal childhood. We bounced around from school to school, never long enough to ever feel like home. I can list on one hand the number of people I could count—even loosely—as a friend growing up, and they never lasted because we always moved on. And it’s not like I could ever tell these ‘friends’ anything true about me or my family. It’s…lonely.”

Claire doesn’t say anything for a moment, but Sam is relieved that she uncrosses her arms and her shoulders relax a bit. “There are a couple people who are ok. Kyle and Heather in English. And Lexi’s in Gym and Spanish. Beats sitting alone at lunch.”

“Hey, it’s a start.” Inwardly, Sam hopes that these new friends are of a better sort than the crowd Claire had associated with when she was in the group home or with that asshole Randy.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to move out?”

Now it’s Sam’s turn to cross his arms, and he straightens up from where he’d been slouching against the wall. “Maybe. I’m not sure. Now that Dean is better and has Cas and you…maybe it’s time for me to find my own place. Not too far, though. I don’t think I’ll ever be out of the hunting life completely.”

“So you’d keep in touch? Still be around?” Sam can tell Claire is desperately trying to keep the hope in her voice quiet.

“Yeah. Sure,” he replies, and finally he gets it: after years of having a big brother watch his back, maybe he can pay it forward. Maybe he and Claire have more in common than he thought—or at least, the Sam of fifteen years ago does. “I’ll always be around.”

“Good,” Claire says, and her lips twitch up in to a smirk. _Seriously, did she take lessons from Dean in deflection via smirking?_ “I’m not dealing with Dean bitching and moaning if you take off.”

“Hey, I’ve done my time with Dean’s bitching and moaning. Maybe I’m ready to pass the torch,” Sam jokes; he's used to playing along in the deflection game.

“You better not.”

They grin at each other, and then Sam pushes himself off of the wall. “Anyway, Dean and Cas have started dinner. I’ll letcha know when it’s ready.”

“Thanks,” Claire says, and she reaches over for her laptop. Sam gives the room another quick survey, smiles, and leaves.


	6. Cas and Dean

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like watching Dean cook. Even though their lives have settled down considerably since the removal of the Mark, Dean still carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, but in the kitchen, Cas can see the burden lifted, even if for just a few moments.

Cas has discovered that he is not a terrible cook, although he gladly lets Dean take the lead since Dean has a much better sense of how foods _should_ taste, whereas Cas is still learning what all of these foods are. When last he was human, his diet had been fairly plain—homelessness and minimum wage jobs don’t allow for terribly adventurous or even fresh foods—and so he has taken great pleasure and interest in learning about real cooking from Dean. Of course, it’s a learning process for Dean as well, after a lifetime of diners and meals warmed on hotplates. Not everything they’ve tried has been a success, but Dean seems to have a knack for the craft, so the failures have typically been more like near-misses, and even they have been few and far between.

Years of fighting side-by-side and communicating silently have made them a nearly seamless team in the kitchen. Tonight it’s chicken parmigiana—chicken parm, as Dean calls it—and a side salad. Cas is in charge of the “rabbit food”, chopping vegetables to toss in the bowl before starting in on the dressing. At the stove, the sizzling hiss of breaded chicken in oil provides the only sound. It’s a comfortable silence.

Dean starts humming as he transfers some of the chicken to a plate before the next batch. Cas smiles as he listens, even though he doesn’t know what song it is. He probably should, considering Dean’s love for such a small selection of songs. But, the song doesn’t matter: it’s the fact that Dean is the one humming it, and it’s the fact that Dean is humming at all. After so many years of conflict and struggle, all Cas wants is for the Righteous Man to have some peace in the world. He’s earned it.

Cas picks up the cutting board and moves over to the trash, using the knife to push the inedible odds and ends off the board. Dean’s hand slides across his back and lingers for a moment.

“Hey there,” Dean says with one of his patented half-grins.

“Hey,” Cas returns. “Vegetables are done. Just need to make the dressing.”

Dean nods, then flicks open the cabinet above the stove, grabbing the ingredients Cas needs—oil, herbs, etc.—and passing them over, all the while keeping an eye on the pan in front of him and flipping a piece of chicken over with the other hand. Cas leans and slides the dressing ingredients onto the table, then turns Dean slightly with a hand on the hunter’s waist, leaning in for a kiss. It’s a fairly chaste kiss, but Dean still smirks and raises an eyebrow suggestively when they pull away. Cas rolls his eyes and smiles.

“Don’t you be rolling your eyes at me—you fucking started it,” Dean says in mock-innocence.

“I guess I’ll have to finish it, too, then,” Cas replies and kisses his hunter again.

“Yeah, all right—I’m gonna hold you to that,” Dean warns, waving a yolky and breaded fork at him.

With a satisfied grin, Cas returns to the table and begins working on the salad dressing and Dean returns to the stove.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean answers, looking over his shoulder.

“Are you going to accompany Charlie on the hunt?”

“That’s what I was thinking. She’ll need some back up on this thing. You want to come along? Sam already bailed—said something about wanting to work on the archives or whatever. Nerd.”

“No, I think just you should go with Charlie.”

Dean flicks off the stove and transfers the last of the chicken in the pan to the plate on the counter. Cas watches the hunter’s movements idly, the dressing momentarily forgotten. Dean turns and leans back against the counter, his hands loosely gripping the edges with his arms akimbo.

“You sure?” Dean asks, clearly puzzled. This is the first time Cas has ever turned down a hunt since his recovery from falling, and while he feels conflicted about not accompanying Dean, he thinks this is right decision. A look of worry comes over Dean’s face, and now Cas is puzzled. _He’s_ the one who should be worried, not Dean. “Is it Charlie? I know she’s a lot of energy, but—”

Oh. It makes sense now.

“Dean,” Cas says with a smile, “it’s not Charlie. Charlie is family; I’ve only known her a few hours and that’s clear. I might not understand everything she says—Metatron’s pop-culture knowledge transfer only included so much and is getting murkier now that I’m human—” Cas notices how Dean’s jaw clenches at the mention of the angel and Cas’ own fall; he decides to ignore it for now and continue on, “—but it’s difficult not to like someone with such an open heart as Charlie. Not to mention that it makes me happy to see how you relax around her. You need her.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty awesome,” Dean grins, relieved. “Still doesn’t really answer my question, though.”

“Well, just as you need her, I believe right now she needs you. I could go on the hunt, or Sam could, but I think it would be best if the two of you went together.” Cas pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “Sam has told me parts of what happened when she came back from Oz, and I know you felt a great deal of guilt over those events, which is why you need the chance to work together without us.”

Dean’s shoulders sag minutely, and he scrubs his face with his hand. “We’re doing ok. We talked earlier, and I think Charlie’s doing a bit better.”

Cas gets up from the table and rests a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “That’s good. The hunt will help, too.” He can feel Dean sink into his hand at the touch, and they end up in a close embrace.

“You’re pretty good at this human stuff sometimes, you know?” Dean says into Cas’ shoulder.

“I’ve had good teachers,” Cas replies as Dean’s arms drop back to his sides and Cas releases Dean.

The hunter jokingly puffs out his chest. “Obviously. We Winchesters are pretty awesome.”

“I never said I learned from you,” Cas deadpans, earning him a playful punch on the arm, and his serious face falters.

“Yeah, well, you definitely learned that sarcasm from one of us, so I’m claiming that as a victory of sorts.”

“I believe the term is ‘Pyrrhic victory’, if you wish to be precise.”

“Fuck you,” Dean laughs, and moves towards the fridge, grabbing a package of Provolone. Cas returns to the dressing, then helps Dean assemble the rest of the dish—not that it really requires two people to lay chicken, sauce, and cheese in a pan, but the company is pleasant.

“You talk to Claire much today?” Dean wonders once the pan has been tucked away in the oven for a few minutes. Already, the aroma is making Cas’ mouth water. They are sitting at the table, drinking beers, postponing cleaning the dishes from preparing the meal. “I caught her for a few minutes when she came home from school and introduced her to Charlie, but that was about it. She seemed kinda preoccupied.”

Cas sighs. “Yes, I spoke with her. I don’t think she likes school. I worry that she might run again.”

Dean chuckles lightly and puts his hand over Cas’. “Shit, everybody hates school, man. Unless you’re Sammy. That’s nothing to worry about.”

“She essentially said the same.” Cas takes a sip of his beer while the thumb of his other hand rubs over Dean’s calloused fingers. His own hands have started to show the signs of the hunting lifestyle, but it will be years before they are as rough as Dean’s; he oddly looks forward to that day.

He puts down the beer and looks straight into Dean’s green eyes. There are days that he misses the connection of his Grace and Dean’s soul in these stares, but now his Grace and Dean’s soul are knitted in the hunter and branded on his arm, and looking into Dean’s eyes is like being welcomed home. He breaks the gaze after a moment and looks blankly towards the wall behind Dean before muttering, “Do you think Claire is happy here?”  

Dean also puts down his beer, and runs his now-free hand through his hair. “Damn, Cas, that’s a loaded question. I dunno. I think so, most of the time. But it can’t be easy on her.”

Dean doesn’t have to elaborate on that last part; Cas knows exactly why Claire’s life has been so difficult and the guilt of it weighs on him daily. When he had first asked Jimmy to be his vessel, he had only been concerned with his mission; he’d had no idea the impact his presence would make on the Novak family, how his actions would tear them apart…and most significantly, he hadn’t truly understood why that would even matter. It wasn’t until his years among the Winchesters that he even began to understand the beauty and heartbreak of family, and—he’s ashamed to admit—he only began to really consider what had happened to Claire after watching Hannah’s vessel, Caroline, return to her husband.

Dean’s hand leaves his own, and reaches up his arm to his shoulder. It pauses there for a moment, then he feels fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck gently moving his head so he is looking back at the hunter.

“Hey, Cas, man, it’s ok. You didn’t know how it was all gonna play out back then,” Dean says, as though he could read Cas' thoughts.

“I should have.” He tilts his head into Dean’s hand, comforted by the touch.

Dean snorts a bitter chuckle. “Seriously, we’re gonna play the hindsight is 20-20 game? Between the two of us—and hell, we can drag Sammy in on this just for kicks—we could list off all the bad shit we’ve done until the next Apocalypse. We’ve all fucked up too many times to count. You just gotta move past it.”

“I seem to remember you saying something similar when Claire first ran away. When she stole my wallet.”

“Was I wrong?”

Cas gives a conceding half-smile. “No, but just like last time, you are much better at giving this advice than taking it yourself.”

“Hey, I’ve made some progress,” Dean laughs softly, and he retakes Cas’ hand. “She’ll be ok.”

They drift off again into silence again, just enjoying each other’s presence, but of course the moment doesn’t last.

“Whatever you’re doing, stop it! We’re coming in!” Charlie carols from the hallway. Cas can hear Sam chuckling.

“Oh, shut up. What, are you, twelve? We’re just drinking a couple beers,” Dean calls back.

“Ooh, so that’s what they’re calling it these days,” Charlie snarks as she and Sam enter the kitchen, both of them wearing absurd grins.

“Food ready yet?” Sam asks, eyes roving the kitchen for some sign of a ready meal.

“Few minutes, Sasquatch. Why don’t you go round up Claire.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but follows his brother’s request. Cas gets up and moves towards the cabinets, pulling out plates and handing them to Charlie. She sidles over to him and gives him a friendly hip-check as she takes the dishes. Cas simply watches for a few minutes as Dean and Charlie banter as they finish setting up the table, a smile playing on his lips.


	7. Claire and Charlie

Claire and Charlie make their way to the TV room after dinner, and Claire starts rifling through the DVDs while Charlie starts hooking up the TV to Dean’s laptop so they can use Netflix on the big screen if the DVDs don’t pan out.

“Sweet, looks like Dean’s finally almost through _Doctor Who_ ,” Charlie says, smiling appreciatively as Dean’s viewing history pops up. “Need to get him onto _Torchwood_ next.”

“Wait, what’s _Torchwood_?” When Claire had been laid up healing from being de-Graced, she’d gotten sucked in to _Doctor Who_ when Dean lent her his laptop. She hadn’t admitted to anyone that she'd really liked it, but for some reason, she doesn’t really care if Charlie knows. Plus, it seems as though Charlie was probably the one to get Dean to watch it in the first place.

“You watch _Doctor Who_?” Charlie’s grin widens when Claire nods. “It’s a spin off based on Captain Jack. Omnisexual badass who fights weird evil and has died more times than anyone can count? Yeah, something tells me Dean might like it.”

Claire laughs. “Good point,” she agrees as she starts putting away the DVDs that are definitely in the ‘no’ category for tonight’s viewing.

“Hey, Claire?” Charlie has stopped fiddling with the TV/laptop hook up and is looking at Claire a bit seriously. “I know you don’t really know me, so you can totally tell me to just shut up, but…is everything ok?”

Claire is momentarily taken aback. _Where the hell did that question come from?_

“Uh…yeah?” she says, trying not to put too much teenage attitude into the response. She doesn’t think she’s too successful. “Did one of the guys put you up to this?”

“Oh frak no. Don’t get me wrong, I love Dean and all, but the day he comes to me asking to help him fight his drama battles is the day I know some _really_ weird shit is going on. And we know weird. And Sam and Cas wouldn’t ask that of me, either.” Charlie pauses and pushes a lock of her short hair out of her eyes. “It’s just…I see the look you get whenever someone says family or asks how you are. And I get it, like, really get it.”

Claire looks at her surprised and a bit disbelievingly. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, my dad wasn’t taken by an angel and I didn’t even know about demons and all the other monsters out there until I met Sam and Dean—and they still have yet to convince me there’s no such thing as a monster magnet—but I know what it’s like to lose family and be on your own as a kid.”

Claire doesn’t say anything; it’s bad enough when Castiel or Dean or Sam tries to have these talks with her, but she barely knows Charlie. Sure, she likes her well enough, but she’s still practically a stranger. Instead of responding, she just draws up her knees and pretends to be very interested in the hem of her left sleeve and the dangling thread coming off of it. Charlie presses on.

“Getting a family again is kind of terrifying.”

“Yeah.” Claire looks up. She hadn’t mean to admit it out loud, but now the confession is there, although a part of her can’t believe that she’s having this conversation _again_ today. Charlie just smiles empathetically.

“It gets easier. I told Sam and Dean I never wanted to see them again after we took down Dick Roman. And when they showed up at Moondoor, I’m pretty sure I said something to the effect of ‘Peace out, bitches. Have fun storming the castle.’” Charlie and Claire both chuckle a bit at that. “But now? They’re my brothers, and I’m not using that word lightly.”

“Yeah,” Claire replies again. For some reason, it’s the only word that will come out, but finally the dam breaks. “Sometimes I think I’m going to wake up and it’s all just gonna disappear or get taken away. Or sometimes I don’t really feel like I belong here sometimes. I mean, Dean and Sam are brothers, and now Castiel has Dean…so where do I fit?”

“And sometimes running away just seems better than trying to deal with all that crap?”

Claire nods.

“I hear ya. You think my name is really Charlie Bradbury?” Charlie grins, then considers for a moment. “Wanna know something funny? Well, maybe not funny… anyway, one more thing and then I’ll promise I’ll leave you alone.”

“All right,” Claire concedes.

“I wasn’t kidding when I told you at dinner that I’d been trying to get Dean to wise up about Cas for a while, and thank god he finally did because damn if what Sam tells me is true, the UST was thick enough to cut with a knife—hell, I picked up on it and I’d never even met the…guy? angel?...whatever. Anyway, Dean’s like a whole new person now…‘course the whole Dark Mark being gone probably helped. But do you know who he hasn’t shut up about?”

“I really really don’t want to know what he says about Castiel,” Claire says with an eye-roll.

“Dude, so not what I was gonna say. Seriously, though, not only has he thanked me a bagillion times for setting up your transcripts—which took all of, like, an hour; totally not the hardest hack I’ve pulled off—but when he was fixing up your car he sent me this,” Charlie says as she scrolls through her phone and then hands it off to Claire.

It’s a text with a picture of her car—a light green Ford straight out of the fifties that someone in the Men of Letters left in the garage—and the caption reads **“I know it’s not what the other kids’ll have but there’s no way i'm sending her off in some fucking imported piece of crap. And she’s not driving Baby. Hope she likes it anyway.”**

Claire stares at the message, not sure if she should be annoyed that Dean has been talking about her to someone she didn’t even know at the time or kind of pleased about the whole thing. For once, the latter is kind of winning out.

“I do like my car. I’ve never had one before.”

“I figured. And if you know Dean, you know he’d only send a text like that about family. Take it from someone who knows: don’t pass up on family even when you feel like running.”

“Yeah, ok.” Claire hopes she can keep that promise, but maybe…maybe it’s looking more and more likely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Charlie's quote in "LARP and the Real Girl" is actually "I'm dropping my sword and walking off the stage, bitches. Have fun storming the castle." but I figured that two years later, she probably wouldn't remember what she said word for word.


	8. Charlie and Sam

Charlie knows she shouldn’t laugh, but the look Claire gives Dean after he tosses a pillow at her is pretty priceless, although Charlie is also glad Claire doesn’t possess lasery death glare powers (and let’s face it, in this life, maybe that wouldn’t be too far outside the realm of possibility) because she’d be extremely upset if her manly man friend ended up dead by teenage bitchface.

“What the hell, Dean?” Claire grumbles, her voice thick with sleep.

“You’re drooling on my armchair, kid. Go to bed,” Dean instructs with a grin. Sam rolls his eyes from his spot next to Charlie on the loveseat.

“Yeah, whatever,” Claire replies, blinking and staring at the TV, which is rolling credits. “Crap, how much did I miss?”

“Marty gets his parents back together at the dance so he doesn’t do the whole fade away thing, he makes it back to 1985, then Doc shows up and drags him into the future." Charlie shakes her head. "I still can’t believe you’d _never_ seen _Back to the Future._ ”

“Hey, it’s from 1985. This movie’s _old_ ,” Claire retorts, completely ignoring the scandalized looks from the Winchesters and Charlie. Cas just sits quietly on the couch, watching the scene unfold, perfectly content under Dean’s arm.

“Dude, it’s not _that_ old. We’re not _that_ old,” Dean says as though Claire has insulted the very fiber of his being. To be fair, Charlie has also been trying not to take Claire’s lack of 80s movie knowledge as a personal affront.

“I am,” Cas interjects dryly, and Dean playfully covers the former angel’s mouth with his hand.

“Shut up, man, not helping.”

Cas catches Charlie’s eye and the two of them exchange conspiratorial grins. Claire just smirks, stretches, and hauls herself out of the chair.

“All right, all right, I’m off,” Claire yawns. “I’m too tired to even be ashamed that the old fogeys are staying up later than me.”

Another pillow follows Claire out the door causing the girl to squawk as it hits her back, and Charlie lets out a deep laugh, joined by Cas and Sam. Even Dean's mock-indignation breaks once Claire leaves, and he joins in on the laughter.

“Shit, we really are that old, aren’t we?” Dean wonders rhetorically.

“Speak for yourself and Cas,” Sam quips, then picks up the remote from the coffee table and starts flipping the TV back to regular channels.

“You’re lucky I’m out of pillows, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“Dean, I believe I saw your _Dr. Sexy_ show a few channels back if you would like to watch,” Cas observes. Charlie and Sam snicker.

“I hate you all,” Dean growls, but the corners of his mouth are quirked up in a smile. “Nah, I think we’re going to head off to bed, too.” Cas sits up, allowing Dean to get off the couch, and the two of them move towards the door.

“I think I’m gonna stay up for a little longer. Not tired,” Sam says.

“Never said we were tired, either,” Dean grins and waggles his eyebrows.

“Ugh, fuck you, Dean,” Sam groans, scrunching up his face in displeasure. Dean opens his mouth to reply, but Charlie knows _exactly_ where this is going.

“Don’t even say it, Winchester,” she threatens with her most serious glare. Dean just cackles deviously, wishes them good-night, and drags Cas out of the room by the hand.

“Sorry, Sam and Charlie. And good-night,” Cas manages before disappearing down the hallway.

“I hate my brother sometimes,” Sam remarks with all seriousness, but Charlie has known the Winchesters long enough to know there is nothing further from the truth. Then again, it doesn’t take that long to figure that out about the brothers.

“I dunno, unpleasant mental images are kinda a nice change from constantly waiting for Dean to Hulk out,” Charlie argues, although truth be told, she could also do without the mental images; she wasn’t kidding when she said she considers Dean a brother.

“Yeah, I guess. We don’t get many wins, do we? I mean, we still have Crowley being the usual pain in the ass and who knows what’s going on upstairs with the angels and Metatron, but for once it’s pretty quiet out there.” Sam puts down the remote, settling on some sitcom to provide meaningless background noise; neither is really invested in watching TV.

“You waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

Sam shakes his head. “No, that’s kinda the weird part. Like, maybe…”

“Maybe you can be…normal?” Charlie ventures, and Sam nods. It’s funny, Charlie reflects, Sam has always been more of the optimist, the one who believes in the possibility of normal, but now that he has it, it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with it or can’t believe it’s real.

“I’m not sure I even really know what normal is at this point, though. I’ve tried it a few times—Stanford, Amelia—but it never worked out. Something...” Sam stumbles on the word and Charlie knows he probably means _someone_ , “…always brings me back to hunting.”

“You know it is possible to do both,” Charlie says, thinking of her cute little apartment, her job (which is sort of boring: it’s nothing like the resources she had working for Dick Roman, but considering that had been the Leviathans' Death Star, maybe she shouldn’t complain), her friends in the Moondoor community, and that girl she keeps running into at Starbucks (ok, so maybe it’s not entirely accidental and Charlie knows she has a better chance of seeing her if she goes into work a half hour earlier than usual…don’t judge: the chick is seriously hot and said her favorite _Harry Potter_ character is Hermione). And sure, she might take off a weekend here and there and go hunt some baddies or meet up with the Winchesters in their world of weird, but it’s a small part of her life.

“Even after Oz?” Sam looks at her incredulously.

“Well, all right, it took a bit—ok, a lot—of adjusting to get back to normal after that. I mean, not just the whole adventure and war part, but it was tough putting myself back together after…everything.” Charlie grabs the pillow Dean had thrown at Claire while she was sleeping off of the floor and curls herself around it. “Hey, I never did thank you in person for that. I know you had a lot going on with Dean as it was.”

Sam nods and gives a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, of course. I’m glad you seem like you’re doing better now.”

Even though Charlie is probably closer with Dean, she hadn’t been able to talk to him about the mess her split personalities had created, especially after seeing the guilt Dean harbored about his own role. One night the nightmares had gotten really bad, and so she had called Sam, the only person who could sympathize or even understand what she was going through. The younger Winchester is a good listener, she’d learned.

“Yeah, I think I finally am. And I think Dean is finally starting to feel better about it, too,” Charlie says as she studies the younger brother. Sam is looking at the TV, but his eyes are rather blank as he gets lost in thought for a few moments. There’s an almost wistful look on his face, and Charlie becomes worried. “Sam?”

“Sorry, was just thinking,” Sam clears his throat.

“Yeah, kinda got that. Wanna share with the class?”

“I was just thinking about Dean and Cas,” Sam explains rather vaguely.

“Dude, I thought we agreed to _not_ think about Dean and Cas,” Charlie prods jokingly.

“What? Oh, dammit no… _not_ what I meant. Thanks for that,” Sam shudders. Charlie smirks. “I was just thinking about how we all looked everywhere for some cure to the Mark and it was right in front of us the whole time. And there was nothing I could really do to help: it was all Cas, and Claire.”

Charlie reaches over and pats Sam on the arm. “You helped a lot. Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there for Dean. Or for Cas.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Sam allows with a small smile, then falls silent for a few moments. Charlie idly watches the TV, but keeps one eye on the younger Winchester. “Is it bad that I’m thinking about finding my own place? Maybe taking a couple classes?”

Charlie had wondered when Sam would start considering this again, and her heart is torn. She knows how desperately Sam has always wanted to be his own person, but she also knows how much this will hurt Dean. Then again, even Charlie has to admit that Dean needs to grow up and let his brother do the same. She had pretty much told him as much when Dean had confessed to the fake text from Amelia he’d created to lure Sam away from that vampire (it was a “dick move”, she’d said, and she stands by that assessment), but two years ago, Dean hadn’t really been ready to hear it.

“No, that’s not bad. Seriously, that’s awesome,” she grins encouragingly and gives Sam a playful punch on the arm.

“Really?” Sam’s smile widens as he realizes that someone else thinks this might be a good idea. “Dean’ll be pissed.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Charlie shrugs.

“‘Maybe no?’” Sam repeats with a scoff. “You know we’re talking about Dean Winchester, right?”           

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Duh. I’m just saying maybe this time he’ll be ok with it eventually.”

“‘Eventually.’ That’s promising.”

“Look, you said it yourself: the solution was right in front of you the whole time. Dean has Cas now. And Claire. And just because you’re family doesn’t mean you have to live together and see each other 24/7. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love you two goofballs and the Batcave is flipping sweet, but I’m _not_ moving in. Maybe it’s time for you to do your own thing for a change. Doesn’t mean you don’t love your brother or that you don’t need each other anymore.”

Sam considers this, and Charlie can almost see the thought-bubbles of possibilities over the younger Winchester’s head. “Think it’ll work?” he asks.

“It would take a miracle,” Charlie replies automatically before responding in earnest. “Can’t hurt to try.”

Sam snorts. “C’mon Charlie, you read the books—I’m pretty sure that’s the exact thought we all have right before we do something incredibly stupid.”

“But you’re still here, aren’t you?” Charlie counters with a laugh; Sam has a point: no one will ever say the Winchesters do things the easy way.

“More or less,” Sam agrees. “I’ll talk to Dean about it soon. I still think he’s not going to like it.”

“Meh, you’re probably right. Tell him to man up and deal. And then if that doesn’t work, tell him I’m threatening to demote him from handmaiden,” Charlie says in a mock-warning voice.

“You fight dirty,” the hunter chuckles.

“It’s good to be the Queen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you in disbelief that Claire would consider Back to the Future old: I'm just a little bit younger than TFW (Cas excepted for obvious reasons) and teach teens -- they don't get half the movie references I make (their loss). 
> 
> (And for those of you who ARE teenagers and reading this: if you don't get the Back to the Future or Princess Bride references in this chapter, get off of AO3 and go watch those movies NOW. This is your cultural heritage! Besides...Supernatural references these films all the time anyway, particularly BttF, so you're doing yourself a favor.)
> 
> UPDATE 4/29/15:  
> Post 10x22: Claire doesn't get a "Caddyshack" reference and Dean is scandalized -- ok, so Caddyshack and BTTF aren't the same, but I'm still going with "I CALLED IT!"


	9. Sam and Dean

Even though Dean can be a total dick sometimes and has used the past few months to skeeve him out by alluding whatever it is his older brother and his ex-angel get up to, Sam thinks about how little he actually _does_ know (thank god) compared to the shameless innuendo—or hell, walking in on Dean with some chick from a bar—he endured after spending years on the road together.

The last time Dean had been this, well, private about someone was Lisa (of course, Sam’s soulless version also hadn’t cared enough to ask for any details), and the time before that? Hell, had to be Cassie. It makes Sam think of his time with Jess, and Amelia, and maybe what could have been with Madison or Sarah.

Sam pushes these thoughts away and instead tries to focus on the general discussion in the library about the case. He doesn’t think it’s going to be as bad as they had originally thought, so Sam has already begged off, claiming he wants to do some work with the archives. It’ll be a good chance for Dean and Charlie to reconnect, and if Cas decides last minute to go along, too, that’s just as well.

It might also be a good way to get Dean used to the idea that maybe Sam doesn’t want to hunt all the time anymore. That maybe separation isn’t the worst thing in the world, and it doesn’t mean he’s abandoning his family.

He half-listens to the conversation, nodding in all the right places, but his focus wanders again, and he finds himself watching the small smile that creeps onto Cas’ face every time Dean looks at him or the way Dean’s arm is always resting against Cas’. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit jealous—not jealous about Cas, of course, but jealous about what the two of them share, that easy familiarity and bond. He misses that and wonders if he’ll ever find it again, and if he does, if he’ll get to keep it.

“Hey, you with us, Sammy?” Dean asks snapping his fingers twice.

“Huh? Sorry, yeah.” Their little powwow is breaking up, and Charlie and Cas have already moved away from the tables and are on their way towards the bedrooms, presumably so they can pack for the hunt.

“Jesus, man, you were totally checked out for like the last twenty minutes. Usually you’re all SuperNerd with the research. You all right?” Dean studies him and once again Sam feels like a little kid being treated like he can’t take care of himself. He knows it’s just how Dean is, and there’ll always be a part of Sam that loves his brother for that and for all it’s ever done for him, but there’s also that part of Sam that will always bristle at being the younger sibling.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Dean nods, apparently satisfied with the response and that Sam doesn’t want to discuss anything further— _because Heaven forbid Dean ever has to talk about feelings. Typical._ “Awesome, I’m gonna start loading up the car.”

“Wait, Dean,” Sam says, running a hand through his hair. Screw it. He doesn’t care if Dean doesn’t want to talk; he has something to say to his brother, so his brother can damn well listen for a change. Dean doesn’t say anything, just gives him a look that clearly says _Well, what is it? I ain’t waiting all day._ Sam takes a deep breath. Time to rip the band-aid off quick. “I’ve been, uh…thinking about getting my own place. Something nearby.”

Just as he expected, his words hit Dean like a blow to the face and it pains Sam to see hurt and betrayal and fear flash across his brother’s features in quick succession. He steels himself for the tirade he knows is coming. But…it doesn’t.

“Christ, Sammy,” Dean says dejectedly, getting up from his chair and pacing a bit by the table. Sam watches Dean, refusing to back down even though he doesn’t want to pain his brother. Dean sighs, “I figured you might be soon.”

Sam is shocked. “Wait, what?” he sputters. “That’s it?”

“Saw the apartment app on your phone. Wasn’t too hard to figure out,” Dean shrugs unhappily. “You find anything?”

“No, not yet,” Sam replies automatically but his brain is still trying to shift gears. He had prepared for a fight from Dean, not miserable acceptance. “Hold on, why aren’t you pissed? Shouldn’t you be yelling at me about leaving the family business or abandoning my family or something?”

Dean looks at him sharply, guilt and shame etched on his face. “Fuck, man, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure as shit not happy about it, but I dunno…I’m tired of fighting you every time you want to leave.”

 _Oh no._ Sam’s heard these words before, usually when Dean is spiraling down into depression. He’s about to respond and explain that he’s not leaving because of Dean or that he doesn’t want to be part of the family, but Dean continues.

“I guess maybe I _shouldn’t_ be fighting you about this.”

Sam can’t believe his ears. “So, Dean, are you saying…?”

“I’m not fucking saying anything, Sammy. And maybe that’s the point.”

_Holy shit. My brother, Dean Winchester, is actually having a mature conversation about this. What. Is. Happening. There’s gotta be a spell or a curse or something going on here…_

“You know it’s not like I’m leaving hunting forever. I don’t think I can anymore,” Sam says, testing the waters, still unwilling to believe Dean is seemingly giving up without a fight.

“No, you should, Sam. If you want to. You’re the one who always saw a light at the end of this tunnel, not like me.” Dean has stopped pacing and is looking resolutely at Sam.

Sam can’t help it, but he actually laughs at the last part. His brother just looks at him confused. “ _I’m_ the one with the light at the end of the tunnel? Hell, man, you’re already there and you don’t even know it.”

“The fuck you talking about?” Dean says, arms open in a gesture that says _Look around; do you see my life?_

Sam snorts. Trust Dean to completely miss the obvious. “Dude, ok, you’re right, this probably isn’t what anyone means when they say settle down in the apple pie life, but for a hunter, this is as damn close as you’re ever going to get. You’ve got Cas, you’ve got Claire, you have a home, you have me and Charlie, there’s no big evil making our lives hell right now…all you need is a dog and a picket fence.”

“No dogs, Sammy, you know the rules,” Dean says, blatantly ignoring the rest of Sam’s little speech. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Not the point, Dean. The point is, you’re _happy_. And I dunno, I hope maybe I can find that, too. But I can’t do it here. And you don’t need me here anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Dean replies. “We’re fucking family.”

“I know. But you don’t need me _here_ , in the bunker, every day.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, then he lets out a long sigh. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m not fighting you about the apartment thing.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Like, I know I gotta stop treating you like you’re just my little brother. And I know I’ve said it before, but I’ve always been kinda shitty on the follow-through. But ever since I got you and Cas and Claire here—and then Charlie coming to visit—it was just nice to have home, you know? To have family all together.”

“Yeah, I know.” And Sam isn’t just saying that. It’s a ragtag crew of misfits, but it’s family and he loves them.

“You know I still don’t like this idea, right? Like if it weren’t for the fact that I’m pretty sure Charlie would bitch me out about it all the way to Colorado, this might have ended in bloodshed?”

Sam laughs at Dean’s posturing, although he also knows just how true Dean’s words are—both about Charlie bitching him out and how close Dean was to losing it about this. But, he decides to play along in an effort to keep the mood light. “She said if you got pissed about this, she’d demote you from handmaiden.”

“Sonofabitch,” his brother mutters with an eye-roll, and Sam isn’t entirely sure who the epithet is aimed at. He doesn’t particularly care, though, either; he still can’t believe how well this conversation has gone, all things considered.

Sam gets up from the table and gives his brother a hug. “Thanks. For, you know, not trying to beat the shit out of me about this.”

“Trying? You know I’d totally kick your ass.”

“Uh huh. And that’s why Crowley calls you Squirrel. They’re fearsome creatures,” Sam retorts, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

“Fuck you, _Moose_.”

“Damn straight,” Sam replies with feigned grace and pride. Dean rolls his eyes again dismissively. “You gonna be, ok?” Sam asks, not wanting to end the conversation with anything unsaid; there have been too many of those conversations in the brothers’ lives.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. All right, enough of this chick-flick shit. I got a hunt to pack for.”

The two brothers make their way down the hall and Sam wonders—hopes—that this might be the start of something new. Something just this side of normal.


	10. Dean and Claire

“How long are you and Charlie going to be gone?” Claire asks as she hands Dean a duffel bag, which Dean promptly tosses into the back seat of Baby. The question barely registers as Dean is mentally tallying up what he still needs to pack and accomplish before heading out on the hunt. _Clothes packed, tuned up Baby last week so she should be running fine, gotta grab a few of the lore books in case this goes sideways, we can grab snacks on the road but I should probably grab a couple water bottles, wonder if Cas has seen my laptop charger…_ Finally he snaps out of his calculations and it registers that Claire has said something.

“I’m, ah…sorry, what?”

“I asked how long you think the hunt is going to take,” Claire says as she tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

“Hunt itself should only take a day or two. Call it a day to drive there, a day to drive back. Should be back by the weekend.”

Of course, Dean thinks it might take a little longer to finish off the hunt. Charlie is a quick-study, and she picked up some serious skills in Oz, but she’s still a far cry from his normal back up for hunting. But, this is how you learn, and if Charlie wants to hunt, then Dean is going to make sure she does it right. Besides, Cas is probably right: he and Charlie need to make things right between them once and for all.

“Ok. So you’re going to be around next week, then?” Claire asks in an attempt to sound nonchalant, but Dean sees right through it.

“Yeah…should be, unless another case crops up. Why?” he questions, trying not to sound too suspicious or accusatory.

“Nothing. Just wondering.”

“Uh huh.” Dean closes the back door of Baby, then leans against her frame, his arms crossed over his chest. He narrows his eyes at Claire, who returns the stare without backing down. “What, you planning on throwing a kegger and trying to figure out when we’ll be out of town? Sammy and Cas are still going to be here, you know.”

Claire rolls her eyes and gives him a bitchface worthy of Sam. “No, that wasn’t it at all,” she says with that attitude that all teenage girls seem to master. For a moment, Dean is reminded of Krissy and he makes a mental note to call and check in on her and her crew; now that Garth is playing house with werewolves— _lycanthropes_ , he sarcastically corrects himself—Dean has taken to calling Krissy up every now and then to make sure they have everything they need and that they’re doing ok. He realizes with a twinge of guilt that he hasn’t called in a long time.

Studying Claire again, he grunts, and stands up straight.

“Ok, fine. I’m not playing 20 Questions; I got shit to do. But don’t come to me if whatever it is bites you in the ass later.” _Thank Christ Sammy wasn’t here for that…probably would have just had some fucking smug “now you know how I feel” look on his face._

Claire lets out a long suffering sigh, and with it, the posturing crumbles. Immediately, Dean’s expression softens and he feels bad for snapping at her.

“What’s up, Claire?”

The walls aren’t completely down yet, and Claire’s voice still holds a bit of defensive bite. “Just school. My stupid Guidance Counselor wants to have a parent-teacher conference next week. Says they do it for all new kids to make sure they’re adjusting or whatever.”

“Oh. Ok.” Dean isn’t really sure what to do with this information. On paper, Cas is listed as Claire’s dad (well, he’s listed as Jimmy Novak—as much as it sucks, it was easier to keep that alias until Claire turns eighteen and doesn’t need a legal guardian), but after hearing about his failed attempted to bust Claire out of the group home by claiming custody, Dean has a feeling this parent-teacher conference will be a disaster. “Any way you can get out of it? I mean, Cas’ll go if you ask him…he’s getting better at this stuff. We barely have to coach him on interviews anymore.”

“Yeah, I know he’ll go. It’s just…” Claire pauses and Dean can see whatever it is she wants to say is at war with that well-honed defiant streak she acquired in the years after demons and angels had messed up her life. “Iwaswonderingifyou’dgotoo,” she mumbles in a rush.

Dean freezes, hoping that his brain mistranslated what she said. This is so not what he expected. Keeping an eye on Claire at the bunker? Sure. Check. Playing her “dad’s” partner at school? Fuck, that’s way more than he bargained for. (Not to mention that word “partner” still sounds foreign and entirely too public to Dean— _thank you, Dad, for that fuck-ton of repression and emotional baggage_. Can’t he and Cas just _be_ , without a label?) Even when he was with Lisa and Ben, he’d been a behind-the-scenes pseudo-parent: Lisa had the whole mom thing figured out long before he had shown up broken on her doorstep, and she didn’t really need Dean’s help; sure he’d gone to Ben’s games and driven him to his friends’ houses, and they’d worked on the cars together, but anything really important, like school, had been Lisa’s domain through and through.

Dean can see Claire quickly retreating inward, and he curses himself for letting her see him freeze like that; he knows that she’ll just throw up her defenses again and pretend she never asked in the first place.

“Yeah, of course I’ll go,” he finally manages. “Can’t promise I won’t totally fuck it up, though.”

He tries picturing himself next to Cas in some school office talking to Claire’s teachers, and can’t imagine a scenario that doesn’t have either one of them looking like total inept dumbasses. But, suddenly, the memory of him trying to go to one of Sammy’s conferences when Sam was in middle school and Dean was probably sixteen or so floats up from the recesses of his mind. The pity in the teacher’s eyes had made him want to punch her simpering face, but he’d smiled his way through it and tried to cover for why their dad couldn’t be there. Shit, if he could do it at sixteen, he can man up and do it now for Claire.

A look of relief washes over Claire’s face. “Thanks,” she says.

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “Sure, no problem. Just, uh…make sure you ask Cas and pretend you asked him first, ok? I think it’d mean a lot to him.”

“Don’t worry, I already did.” Claire chews her bottom lip, and then her mouth quirks up at one corner. “Think he’ll bust out the trenchcoat again?”

Dean barks a laugh. “Probably. He’s been looking for an excuse to wear it for weeks. I keep telling him I’ll let him wear it if we’re doing the Fed thing on a hunt and it’s raining, but that’s it.”

It’s not that Dean is against the holy tax accountant look, _per se_ , but Cas’ new trenchcoat is just a bitter reminder to Dean of the first one that had been lost. He would never tell Cas it’d hurt him to learn the coat was gone because he knows that at the time, Cas had had to decide between the coat and food, and he wouldn’t want the Cas to feel guilty about taking care of himself. But after Cas had gone into the lake, the trenchcoat had been the only thing Dean’d had left of his friend. He’d carefully taken it with him from car to car while Baby was in lockdown, and it had been the final piece in bringing the real Cas back after his stint as Emmanuel. It might have been a ridiculous coat, but it had been so  _Cas_.

On a more pleasant sartorial note, Dean would also have to admit that he has grown used to seeing Cas in jeans and plaid—particularly his own (Dean is fairly certain there are a few shirts he will never get to reclaim, but he’s not complaining; not to be a total chick about it, but that purplish plaid shirt brings out the blue in Cas’ eyes).

“You’re really out of it today, aren’t you?” Claire is asking as Dean’s mind drifts back to the Men of Letters garage.

“Yeah, sorry. Lot going on. The hunt and everything.”

“Uh huh. We can pretend you didn’t just go off into La La Land because you were thinking about Castiel and trenchcoats,” Claire smirks and Dean feels heat rising in his face.

“Good. Glad we agreed on that,” he retorts. Claire turns, about to leave the bunker when a thought occurs to Dean. “Wait, Claire.”

“Mm?” She spins back on her toes, her sneakers squeaking on the floor.

“You sure you want me to go to this conference thing? I mean…I know I should so that Cas doesn’t pull some awkward ex-angel crap and get you in trouble…but…do you really want _me_ there?” Dean’s never been one for words, and he hopes Claire understands what he means. Luckily, she does; they speak the same language.

For a moment, as Claire considers how to respond to his question, Dean sees the Claire he first met years ago—small, innocent, trusting, loved—and he wonders what she would be like today if she hadn’t had to hide that side of her under layers and layers of sarcasm, independence, and deflection. As tough as Claire is, it’s not what who she is at her core: Jimmy Novak’s daughter was made for a quiet, peaceful, warm life. Instead, she ended up here.

“Yeah, I really want you to go, Dean,” she answers quietly, then bursts out, “Charlie showed me the text you sent her. About the car.”

It takes Dean a minute to process why Charlie would show her that text, or what it has to do with this conversation. “Oh, right,” he says when it finally clicks, and he smiles. He puts an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in for a quick one-armed hug, and Claire returns it in kind. “She tell you I told her about that essay you wrote?”

“What? You _told_ her about that? Why?” Claire scrunches up her face in disbelief. Dean laughs, enjoying the torture for a minute—teenagers are too easy to rile up.

“Because I couldn’t fucking stop laughing when you told me about it and I knew she’d appreciate it. Plus, I was…” he pauses for a split second, surprised at what is about to come out, but he says it anyway, “I was kinda… _proud_ …of you.” The word sounds strange coming from his mouth, but at the same time, it fits. “That was some first class bullshit you pulled off.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t even that good,” she counters, but this time the bullshit isn’t as good—or maybe Dean’s just better than that teacher at detecting it—and Dean can tell she’s pleased by what he said. Suddenly, though, his stomach drops at a new realization.

“Fuck, that teacher isn’t going to be there, is she? I don’t think I can sit through a conference with her and keep a straight face.”

“Yeah, she’ll be there. And seriously? You can pretend you’re a freaking Fed and keep people from knowing about vampires and crap but you can’t keep a straight face in front of my English teacher?” Claire scoffs. “Hmm, maybe you’re right. You’ll just screw this up. Cas should go alone.”

“Low blow.”

“You walked right into it.”

The snark-off is interrupted by the door to the bunker opening. Cas walks in, carrying the books Dean had planned on grabbing from the library.

“Are these the ones you wanted?” Cas asks, holding them out.

“Yeah, man,” Dean smiles, taking the books and adding them to the supplies in the car. “Thanks.”

“Of course, Dean.”

“Hey, so Claire just told me about the parent-teacher conference. Mind if I tag along?”

Cas tilts his head questioningly, looking from Claire to Dean. “Why would I mind?”

“Dunno, just figured I’d ask first.”

Cas shrugs. “It’s Claire’s education. If she wants us both there, I have no real say in the matter. I’d like to have you there, though.”

Dean feels his grin widening, and he pulls Cas in for a kiss.

“Gross,” Claire says melodramatically as she heads for the bunker door. “No one wants to see her dads make out,” she calls cheerfully over her shoulder.

“Did she just…?” Dean asks, and the part of him that’s secretly pleased with the moniker is waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the panic and freak out to begin. But it doesn’t. Cas’ eyes are wide, and Dean can tell he hadn’t expected Claire’s new titles for them, either. The Cas' face lights up, and Dean knows his face is probably doing the same.

“Yes, I believe she did,” Cas answers, and it’s like Dean can see the guilt Cas has carried with him literally float away.

“Well, let’s hope we don’t fuck this up too bad,” Dean remarks with a grin.

“Considering how badly we already have, I doubt we can do much worse.”

“Dude, don’t jinx it.” And before Cas can reply, Dean pulls him in, and presses his own lips to his angel’s. _Claire can say what she wants…we’re not gross…we’re fucking adorable._

 

 

_**_


	11. Bonus Chapter: The Parent Teacher Conference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered making this its own installment in the series, but it's just too direct of a sequel to Ch. 10.
> 
> It does break the pattern of the previous chapters (and it's much longer), but I just couldn't resist writing this scene. Mentioning the PTC and then not writing it seemed like a fan fiction gap within a fan fiction.
> 
> I also wrote this chapter in June/July of 2015 whereas the rest of the fic was written in Feb/March, and other parts of the series were written in between. So it's a bit of a back-track for me as a writer.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

High school sucks.

It had sucked every time they’d had to change schools. It had sucked every time he been called down to the office for skipping or poor grades because how the hell could he ever explain—even if he had wanted to, which he vehemently _hadn’t_ —that he’d had to skip because his dad needed help tracking and killing some evil threat to society, or that he had poor grades because he had been up late hustling pool with his fake ID so that he and Sammy could have something other than Spaghettios for dinner that week? (And ok, he hadn’t exactly tried all that hard—what was the point when he knew he was just going to be a hunter anyway? It wasn’t like the hunting community checked SAT scores and GPAs.)

And it wasn’t like he’d been super popular: he’d been enough of a smart aleck and tough guy so that people thought he was kind of cool and no one messed with him—or Sammy—but he hadn’t exactly been the type people flocked to or called a friend. So yeah, other than some not-exactly-PG fumbling around in various janitors’ closets (mostly with girls who were going through their rebellious phases and figured Dean fit the bad boy bill), high school had sucked.

And it apparently isn’t any better as a thirty-six year old waiting in the A/C-frigid office like a stupid kid all over again, waiting for some Guidance Counselor to come out and talk to him and Cas about Cas’ (Jimmy’s) _daughter_ —and by extension, _Dean’s_ daughter.

What the fuck has his life become?

Cas is once again in what used to be his standard uniform—holy tax accountant chic—because he had insisted that Claire said that wearing a tie made him look more like a dad. She wasn’t wrong, but Dean had still rolled his eyes good naturedly at the trenchcoat.

Dean had opted for just his regular clothes, but Sam, that bastard, had just raised a critical eyebrow when he came out of his room, and so Dean had sworn loudly and changed the flannel for a white dress shirt, and the boots for his “Fed” shoes (but he is still wearing jeans and has rolled the sleeves of the dress shirt because fuck you, this isn’t high tea with the Queen).

The ridge of the hard plastic chair cuts into the backs of his thighs as he shifts uncomfortably, and he jiggles a knee until Cas reaches over and stills it with a hand and a look. Dean returns a sheepish smile. He studies the former angel, who is sitting with extreme stillness, which most people would probably mistake for calm, but Dean knows this is Cas trying not to freak the fuck out because he feels completely out of his comfort zone.

Dean can relate.

Instinctively, he grabs Cas’ hand from his knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Cas’ eyes meet his and send him a look of gratitude. In his peripheral, Dean sees the secretary catch the exchange between the two men, and she smiles and simpers like an indulgent grandmother.

 _Oh God. Not this shit._ She’s looking at them like they’re a box of kittens, and Dean almost wishes she’d made some homophobic comment. Punching some jackass at a bar for being a bigoted douchebag is one thing. Punching some little old secretary for thinking your relationship is adorable and cute is kind of a dick move. But seriously, why is it always one or the other? No one would bat an eye if Jimmy and Amelia had shown up for Claire.

Ugh. This day just isn’t getting any better.

It’s a good thing it's for Cas and Claire because otherwise this shit would not fly.

They sit and wait, and Dean stares at the clock and begins to wonder if there’s a universal curse on all school clocks that makes time run slower (he really should check the lore books in the bunker later—there’s no way this is natural). Finally after what seems like an eternity, a man in his late twenties (maaaybe early thirties), with glasses and blond hair about the same length as Sam’s, comes over.

“Mr. Novak?” the man asks pleasantly, looking between Cas and Dean, obviously unsure which of the two he should be addressing. Cas immediately stands up and offers a hand. Dean also stands, but lets Cas take the lead.

“Yes, I’m Mr. Novak,” Cas confirms a bit awkwardly as he and the man shake hands. Cas glances back at Dean who nods, and so he proceeds, “But you may call me Jimmy.”

“Great, Jimmy, nice to meet you. I’m Isaac Whitmore, Claire’s Guidance Counselor,” he smiles, and Dean nearly coughs a laugh. _This guy is the Guidance Counselor?_ He thinks back to his own, numerous, stuffy Guidance Counselors who had all seemed rather resigned to the hopelessness of the case of Dean Winchester. Hadn’t been a whole lot in the “guidance” department, there. Not that he would have taken it, anyway.

Isaac turns to Dean, offering his hand, which Dean takes. “I’m Dean,” the hunter supplies, carefully avoiding the last name issue. Isaac doesn’t ask, but does seem to be waiting for an explanation as to who exactly Dean is in this situation. “I’m, uh...C—Jimmy’s...partner.”

He knows he needs to get used to saying that out loud, if only because Mr. “I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation” always looks a little heartbroken when Dean chokes on the term or PDA. Dean had tried to explain that it’s kinda hard to just completely erase thirty odd years of repression and general relationship commitment issues (hell, he asked Cas to mindwipe the only other person he’s ever been in a long term relationship with—now doesn’t that tell ya something), but Cas hadn’t really seemed to get it. Not until Dean compared it to Cas to trying to act human and hide his hold-over angelic qualities, that is. It’s hard to forget who you are—were—or were always told to be.

Luckily, unlike the secretary, Isaac just offers a standard welcome and expresses how nice it is when both parents come to meetings.

 _Both_ parents. Something else Dean apparently needs to get used to STAT. And Dean can’t even use the excuse of “hey, it’s not every day you wake up and you’re suddenly the father of a teenage girl you barely know” because, well, yeah...that’s just par for the fucking course in Dean’s life. Dean swallows and offers Isaac what he hopes is a charming grin while he pushes back the memories of Emma, and his other failed parenting misadventure, Ben.

Isaac leads them to a conference room where three other teachers introduce themselves; he also excuses the English teacher’s absence—much to Dean’s relief—as she is attending an IEP meeting ( _whatever that is_ , Dean thinks) for another student.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, what brings you to this corner of Kansas? It’s not often we have students transfer as seniors,” Isaac asks cheerfully, sorting through a few papers that seem to be printouts of Claire’s grades, then pulling over a legal pad.

“I’ve actually lived in the area for awhile,” Dean says easily. “Jimmy and Claire just moved here because of...Jimmy’s work.” He smiles and looks to Cas, hoping the ex-angel will jump in with their pre-determined backstory instead of just sitting awkwardly in the uncomfortable stiff-backed chair (although, the chair has nothing to do with Cas’ classic ramrod posture).

“Yes,” Cas agrees, taking the cue. “I conduct research and provide...security...on behalf of a private organization. My latest project required me to move here. And, of course, I wished to be closer to Dean.”

Not exactly the truth, but not exactly a lie. Dean had laughed when Claire told him that Cas had informed the woman at the group home that he “fights certain deadly threats to humanity” (or, he’s an exterminator, as Claire had had to lie); Dean, of course, made no mention of the fact that he himself had once used pest control as his white-lie about his previous jobs to Lisa’s neighbor.

In any case, before this conference, Dean had made sure to coach the former celestial being on what to say if anyone asked about employment; he hadn't counted on Cas' last bit about Dean, though, and the hunter's face flushes slightly.

“Interesting,” Isaac nods. “And you, Dean?”

“I restore classic cars,” the hunter supplies, thinking of Claire’s sweet ride from the Men of Letter’s garage. And, of course, Baby. He’d considered using an FBI alias, but had ultimately decided against tying down a hunting alias to a specific location or anything resembling a private life.

“That’s great! I’ll have to have you look at the ‘69 Camaro my uncle left me. Don’t know a thing about cars, but I’d love to have it fixed up.”

Dean grins at the thought. “Well, you know how to contact us.” _Wait, did I just sign myself up for honest work in a town that I’ve more or less lived in for the better part of two years? Huh._

“I’ll be sure to do that! Anyway, we’re happy to have you here,” the counselor smiles, before looking to the teachers around the table. “So, about Claire. Should we just go around and you can each give us a brief idea about how she’s doing in your classes?”

The first teacher, a rail thin woman in her sixties whose short still-blonde hair, wire-frame glasses, and apparent inability to smile give her an especially strong _Don’t mess with me, but if you pay attention, you might just learn something_ vibe, introduces herself as Claire’s math teacher. She speaks briskly, explaining that while Claire’s grasp of skills seems inconsistent, she is generally a dedicated worker and is currently maintaining a C+ average. Dean decides that despite the woman’s lack of warm fuzzies, he kinda likes her: she’s the kind of teacher that might be a hard-ass, but she’s the same hard-ass to everyone, and if you shut up and do your work, she’ll respect you.

Claire’s chemistry teacher, a large man with a shock of curly grey hair, discusses how Claire seems to be doing fairly well in the course, despite being the only senior; her previous school scheduled chemistry as a senior course, while this one reserves physics (which Claire took as a sophomore) for its students' final year. But, she is caught up on work and earning a B in the course.

Through both overviews, Dean and Cas just smile and nod politely, Cas looks to Dean each time, silently asking if there is anything they should be saying to all of this and Dean replies _Fuck if I know. Just keep nodding and smiling._

History, though, is where it almost falls apart.

“Claire isn’t struggling with the skills necessary for the material,” says the history teacher, a woman in her early thirties with rich dark hair and skin (and quite honestly, Dean thinks, once upon a time, she would have been exactly the type to receive that patented Dean Winchester charm). “But, she does seem...reluctant to engage in our most recent unit, even though she seems to be quite knowledgeable on the subject.”

“What is the focus of the unit?” Cas asks.

“World religion and mythology.”

Dean looks sharply at Cas, wishing the dude still had angelic powers so he could send a prayer of _DON’T SAY ANYTHING STUPID OR MENTION ANGELS AND DEMONS._ He can still remember the first time he’d taken Cas on a hunt: the upside-down badge had been bad enough, but then, of course, Cas had been incredibly honest about what must have happened when Raphael showed up in the town. They’re lucky the cop hadn’t thrown them out of the office...or arrested them.

Dean coughs and tries to take the lead on this one. “Well, religion is kind of a touchy subject for us, and I thought that since this is a public school—”

“Oh, I understand: many people voice that concern,” the teacher interrupts with a bright smile. “The unit is more based on history, culture, and a general overview of key beliefs. We take a very holistic and academic view of a great variety of religions and belief sets, and we emphasize that at no point are we asking anyone to change their beliefs, nor are we preaching.”

“Oh, I see, it’s just that—” Dean begins again, before once more getting cut off.

“Religious matters are one of the reasons Claire’s mother is no longer ‘in the picture,’” Cas cuts in, and although Dean can _hear_ them, he is relieved Cas doesn’t actually _do_ the air quotes.

Dean stares open-mouthed at Cas, both impressed with the lie that isn’t really a lie and amused by the hilarious understatement. Because having your dad (and you, for a short time) possessed by an angel while your mom is taken by a demon during the Judeo-Christian Apocalypse is just _such_ a run-of-the-mill reason for your parents to split up and for you to take exception to having to learn about religion in school. Oh, and that’s all before a Mark of Cain/Angelic Grace plotline, or the fact that the dude sitting here playing the role of dear old dad is actually a fallen angel. Dean snorts a laugh, but covers it with a cough and a hand over his mouth.

“Oh,” the teacher says, and her eyes flick between Dean and Cas. “ _Oh_ ,” she repeats, her eyebrows lifting.

Cas tilts his head in confusion and Dean’s brow furrows in question before he figures out just what it is that the teacher is “oh-ing.”

“Wait, what Jimmy here means is that...well, it has nothing to do with, you know, _us_ ,” Dean explains, waving a vague hand between him and his partner. “Claire’s mother isn’t like that.” Cas gives Dean a confused look and once again Dean wishes he could just pray at the guy and explain. Dean sighs, and looks to the former angel. “Our _relationship_ is not the religious matter that resulted in Amelia leaving.”

“Oh,” Cas nods, finally understanding, then he turns back to the teacher. “Yes, that is certainly not the case. My F—God does not consider sexual orientation to be of import.”

And Dean just wishes he could sink into the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” the teacher apologizes, obviously mortified and uncomfortable, and Dean feels compelled to bail her out.

“No big deal. It’s ok, we get it. It’s just, Claire kind of took it all hard, so I guess what you’re learning in class is just a little too close to home,” Dean offers.

The teacher nods and says she will certainly keep that in mind moving forward. At this point, Isaac, who had been sitting silently with his eyes wide during the exchange, coughs lightly and looks relieved to steer the conversation back from personal matters. Idly, Dean wonders how many years this...kid...has been a Guidance Counselor. _And fuck when did I turn into a grumpy old man?_

“So it looks like Claire has a 71, in the course, right?” Isaac asks, looking down at the print-out of the teen’s grades.

“Yep. I have a couple small assignments I need to finish grading this week, so that number might change a bit, but she’ll probably still have a C-,” the history teacher confirms.

“Well, that’s pretty good, right?” Dean asks.

“Yes, but I don’t think the grade truly reflects her abilities.”

“We will speak to her,” Cas assures the woman.

“So do you have any more questions or concerns for the teachers?” Isaac asks. Cas looks to Dean wide-eyed; Dean shrugs. “Do you mind if I let the teachers go back to their classes and then we can talk if you have any further questions?”

“Sure, no problem,” Dean says. The teachers each get up, and Cas and Dean shake hands and thank them for coming. The history teacher, Dean notes, beats a fairly hasty retreat from the conference room.

They settle back into their chairs and Isaac gives them another broad smile. “Do you have any questions for me?” Dean and Cas glance at each other, drawing blanks. Isaac looks between them and offers a topic. “Many parents of seniors usually want to discuss whether their student is on track for graduation and what the student’s plan is for next year.”

“Uh...yeah. Sorry, this is all new to us,” Dean explains. “Jimmy was...homeschooled. And I’m just a dropout. My brother’s the smart one, not me.”

 _Thunk._ Dean tries not to gasp or curse at the swift kick Cas gives him under the table. He gives Cas a _What the fuck was that for?_ look, and the ex-angel’s blue eyes stare back at him with a _You know what._ Except, Dean doesn’t. Cas sighs in clear exasperation.

“You are not ‘just a dropout’, Dean. You and your brother are _both_ highly intelligent, despite your constant attempts to disguise or discount your own abilities and worth. Stop underestimating yourself.” Cas’ voice is that strange mix of almost-holy-smite, loving concern, and reassurance that Dean knows all too well.

Dean’s jaw nearly drops and he prepares to counter, but the look in Cas’ eye stops him short. So, instead he clenches his jaw and looks away, embarrassed and annoyed...and feeling like a jackass for being annoyed that his partner thinks he’s intelligent.

Yep, here it is: Fucked-Up-Ville. Population: Dean Winchester.

“Anyway,” Dean mutters once he’s recovered, “is Claire on track to graduate?”

He’s pretty sure that Charlie made up some decent transcripts; Claire’s a smart kid, but her academic track record wasn’t exactly stellar due to, well, the absolute shittiness that was—is—her life. But, then again, Charlie’s been out of the high school game a few years. Maybe things have changed since she was in school and she missed something?

“Oh yes,” Isaac assures them, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief. “As long as she keeps up her grades—and I would definitely speak to her about that History grade before it drops any lower—she should be fine. What are her plans for next year?”

 _Not dying in some freaky supernatural way?_ Dean is tempted to reply because, honestly, that’s usually the only future gameplan any of them have. But, despite the fact that Claire has seen and done more than some members of the hunting community, and she lives in the bunker, he still hopes that she won’t get into the life.

“I don’t know,” Cas admits, and his shoulders slump. Dean reaches over and lightly pats his arm.

“We had kind of a tough year,” Dean explains. “We’ve been pretty focused on the day-to-day.”

Honestly, that’s been a nice change for them, seeing as “planning for the future” in the Winchesters’ world usually translates to “figuring out how to stop the world from ending,” and it’s been blissfully quiet on the apocalyptic front. Hell, up until a few weeks ago, the only future Dean saw for himself involved black eyes and murderous rage.

He wonders, if Cas’ Grace had not provided a cure for the Mark, if Cas would have gotten his mojo back and still stuck by Dean even as a Knight of Hell for all eternity.

He probably would have. _Dumb bastard,_ Dean thinks with fondness, an inner eye-roll, and a (not so) healthy dose of guilt. 

Now, their focus is on helping Cas adjust to being human—the guy puts up a good show, but Dean knows how stressed Cas has been (and Dean has talked him through a couple near panic-attacks; changing species is fucking hard). Or the focus has been on Dean’s sometimes crippling guilt from all that he did with the Mark.

Oh, or trying to fit a fairly broken teenage girl into their lives.

And how the hell did Sam, the ex-psychic demon blood junkie, of all people, end up the normal one in all this?

So yeah, “a tough year” barely covers it.

Cas catches his eye and like always, it’s as if the guy can read Dean’s mind; they exchange reassuring expressions before Isaac interrupts their silent conversation.

“Well,” the counselor offers, “there are some four year colleges in the area, although at this point, if she hasn’t applied already, she would have to wait for the next round of enrollments in the fall. There are also a few community colleges or technical schools nearby, which often allow applications year round. If Claire isn’t sure about what she wants to study, this might be a good opportunity for her to at least try some college courses without breaking the bank.”

“That sounds promising,” Cas smiles. “A college degree would be good.”

Dean nods in confirmation, hearing the question in Cas’ last statement. “Yeah, we can talk to her about it. We’ll ask Sam for help—dude got into Stanford without me or Dad knowing he was even applying.”

And even though Sam leaving for California had hurt like hell, Dean still can’t help but be unbelievably fucking proud of his little brother, and he knows that pride has crept into his voice when he sees Cas’ eyes crinkle at the corners.

And who knows, maybe Claire won’t want to go to college, but at the very least, the kid’s _graduating._ Her teachers seem to like her. And ok, maybe some of her grades aren’t stellar, but she’s clearly capable.

Suddenly, he pictures her in her cap and gown, walking across the stage to shake hands and get her diploma. He thinks about her getting an acceptance letter from college, buying one of those sweatshirts with her school’s name or initials in giant block letters, and then maybe _another_ graduation in a few years.

And a real job. And a house. And maybe a family and kids.

_Holy fuck._

These images carry him throughout the rest of the meeting, which only lasts a few minutes more, and Dean knows he’s on the verge of grinning like a loon. They thank Isaac, get a nod and bright smile from the secretary, and make it back to the Impala.

Dean slides into the driver’s seat, but doesn’t start the engine. He turns to Cas.

“Claire’s fucking _graduating_ , Cas.”

Cas’ brow furrows at Dean’s surprised tone. “I know,” he says in a half-question.

“She could, like, go to college. She could actually _do_ something with her life, away from all this crap.”

Cas finally smiles. “That would be nice.” The ex-angel tilts his head slightly, suddenly wistful. “She could leave and have what is considered a ‘normal’ life.”

The illusion shatters, and the images of Claire’s future—in which Dean had pictured himself, Cas, and Sam, and hell, even Charlie, as part of this crazy family—disappear. Because Cas is right: Claire would leave. Why would she want to stick around their particular brand of weird and fucked up when she could escape?

Somehow the thought is just as bad as when Sam left for Stanford.

“She might come back, though,” Dean suggests. “Sam did.”

Of course, he conveniently leaves out the circumstances that led to Sam’s return to the family. Cas doesn’t take the bait.

“I hope that if Claire returns, it is not for the same reason as Sam,” the ex-angel says firmly.

“Well, yeah, I know, but...maybe we could keep in touch, you know?”

“I would like that,” Cas agrees, and considers for a moment.

Dean starts up the car and steers it out of the parking lot. He contemplates switching on the radio, but once again, thoughts of Claire having a normal future—with or without them involved (as long as she’s happy, that’s what counts)—play over and over in his brain.  

His kinda-kid is gonna fucking graduate.

_Awesome._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a quick explanation for Claire's grades: B's and C's are decent grades, but they're definitely not great. I firmly believe that Claire COULD be an A/B student, but realistically, with all of the turmoil she's been through PLUS the logistics of transferring more than halfway through senior year, the likelihood of her getting those grades is slim to none. Unlike Sam, who also transferred a lot, Claire wasn't as invested in school prior to showing up at the bunker (I somehow doubt in between robbing convenience store schemes, Randy was sitting down with Claire and Dustin for tutoring and homework help; also Dean probably encouraged Sam to keep up his grades). She's more like Dean, though probably more aware of her intelligence, even if she doesn't apply it in school.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is in a very different vein from Light's Grace (like how there's really no plot and it's way more canon divergent than the first part), but I wanted to do something that was more like a character / relationship study for all of them. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!


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